


Erased

by Draycevixen



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Community: teaandswissroll, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 09:26:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draycevixen/pseuds/Draycevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the livejournal community Tea and Swiss Roll's 20 minute fic challenge, for the prompt: Memory. </p><p>Tidied up a bit but still pretty much as originally written in 20 minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erased

.

He’d expected a right bollocking over this one as the old man didn’t tolerate failure. 

The thing was, he shouldn’t have failed. It was an easy enough job. Acquire the target, eliminate the target, move on to the next assignment. Course, the old man would never say anything as crude as “kill the evil bugger before he can order any more deaths” so “eliminate” it was, clean, efficient and sterile language suitable for the official report. 

So what if he’d planned on kneecapping the bastard first before putting a clean, efficient and sterile bullet between his eyes. He rubbed at the deep furrow forming between his own eyes, pushing against the pain. 

He’d been shown the bulky folder of evidence against the target, damning evidence that nevertheless would never stand up in court – dead men make bad witnesses – and been provided with the target’s address. 

The target, in his mid-fifties, lived alone. While his home had an advanced security system, a week’s surveillance revealed the surprising fact that while he was picked up most mornings by a driver, he had no bodyguards. It had all looked so bloody easy. He’d planned for an early morning strike in the garden, using a silenced gun. If he had to kill— eliminate the driver too, then so be it... 

 

The warehouse was always so bloody cold. He didn’t know why they couldn’t be based in Century House with the rest of the lads, not that he really remembered working there. He pulled the collar of his jacket up around his ears, slumping down in to it as far as he could. The old man was sending Dr. Cooper to examine him again, to see if he needed another injection. He needed to concentrate on what he was going to tell Cooper if he didn’t want to get sent back to the farm for further treatment. 

 

...He’d had the target dead to rights, gagged and backed up behind a hedge, hidden from the street. He’d been lowering his gun, aiming for the left knee, when the driver had swung rapidly around the hedge, knocking him backwards. He’d righted himself, shoved back, and been aiming again when the driver had surged upwards between him and his target. 

“Bodie!”

He’d put a bullet in the driver’s head and then two in the target... 

 

He rubbed again at that spot between his eyes where the buzzing never seemed to stop. No, it hadn’t happened that way at all, it just should have. 

Instead, he was going to have to explain to Dr. Cooper why he’d failed to kill Cowley. How a stranger’s startled green eyes had stopped him dead in his tracks. How he’d seen a bead of sweat on the stranger’s face and somehow known exactly what the skin beneath it would taste like. How he’d struck him with his gun and ran away, ran until it had felt like his lungs would explode with one more step, still unable to outrun hearing over and over again the stranger’s ragged “they said you died, the lying bastards.” 

 

He was sweating himself, despite the cold, as the pain in his head surged. He just had to hang on and Dr. Cooper would fix him, like he had before, after the accident. Bill Brady didn’t run from anyone. 

.


End file.
